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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



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COMPLETE UP TO DATE. 



Read from the treasured volume 

The poem of thy choice, 
And lend to the rhyme of the poet 

The beauty of thy voice. 

And the night shall be filled with music. 
And the cares, that infest thedav, 

Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs, 
And as silently steal away. 

— Longfp;li,ow. 



MITCHELL, IO\V.\. 

PUBLISHED BY THE AUTHOR 

1S90 







^: 



c\0 



Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 1890, 

BY HOMER P. BRANCH, 

in the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 



TABLE OF contents: 



A Dream. 

I.ove. . . . . 

To Lake Pontchartraine. 

Four Charms. 

The Spirit Bride. 

Only Thy P'ace. 

Waltz Soiijr. 

Friendship's Ro-ses. 

Sans Soiici. 

The Maiden's Yes. 

My Seraphine Visitors, 

The Saintly S&iil. 

Song of Ayuh A! Ahmed. 

As The Wavering Gleams, etc. 

Thine Eyes. 

The Warmest Heart, etc. 

Cowboy Jack's Story. 

Days of Yore. 

The Lover's Confession. 

The Mi.ser's Trance. 

Kind Words. 

Troubled Sleep, 



1 


Pbantasma Inferno. 


30 


2 


The Last of the Sihoos. 


32 


3 


Poetry's Thought. 


43 


• 4 


The Lover's Farewell. 


44 


• .S 


Fleeting Toy's. 


4S 


, 6 


TTie Selfish Seer, etc. 


45 


■ 7 


The Lover's Soliloquy. 


46 


7 


To Zevna. 


46 


. 8 


Ode to' A Coyote. 


47 


. 8 


To A Tear. " . 


48 


9 


A Soft Heart, etc. 


48 


. 10 


A Trip In The Dark. 


49 


II 


Baby's Little Feet, etc. 


49 


• H 


The Nightmare. 


50 


■ 15 


Float, Float, etc. 


52 


i.S 


The Snow Blockade. 


53 


. i6 


Whispers. 


54 


■ 23 


The Waltz. 


54 


24 


To A Friend. 


55 


• 25 


The Old Treasures, etc. 


55 


. 26 


The Old Oak Tree, 


56 


27 


rhe Ladies, 


56 



PREFATORY JMOTE. 



The reader will herein Hnd my poems complete 
up to date. As I have not yet reached the last 
mark in my twenty-sixth year, and, therefore, am 
not yet quite out of the pioneer period of the years 
of usefulness I hope to liv^e, excuse for several 
failures to tread the trail of standard poetical 
principles, or for the brevity or the book, will not 
be needed. Some of these poems have won dis- 
tinction in high places, but most of them have 
never before appeared in print. Several of the 
shorter ones were never designed for publication, 
but were composed "on the spur of the moment" 
from thoughts suggested by happenings among 
my immediate acquaintances during my youth, 
and jotted down at random . 1 think I can truly 
say that my poetical ventures have each and all 
been made with the pleasantest of feelings toward 
humanity in general, and the same kind feelings 
continue with them as I hand them to the public. 

H. P. B. 

July 80, 18U0. 







PRETTY vision ot" a happy land 
Swept past me in my dreams; 
^^ f^- Swept past, returned, and then delayed — 
A land of sunny founts and streams. 
Of vernal hills and dales displayed 
}3eneath a high-arched rainbow's brilliant band. 

The rippling music of a thousand rills, 
The charm-songs of myriad birds, 

The rush of tiny waterfalls, 
And cheej'y trills of pleasant words 
Whispered by sylphs within the walls 
Of crystal mansions, echoed o'er the hills. 

Small lakes with turffed shores, and waters clear. 
And surfaces rippling lightly, 

Where stately swans proudly floated, 
Their white plumage shining brightly, — 
U|)on which tame fawns gloated 
With dreamy eye, — shone sparkling far and near. 

Gardens dight in paradisial bloom 
Peeped out in genial radiance 

Through glistening vistas from dells 
And deep retreats where gay dance 
And song fluctuated to swells 
Of music borne on zephyrs of perfume. 



POKMS; BY HOMER P. BRANCH. 



Vii'gins, unsiirpasse(] in beauty, glidec} 
Liglitsomely through the charmiug scene, 

Smiling sweetly npou all hands; 
Royal queens in that fair demesne 
Were they, trooping in merry bands, 
By youthful and splendid princes guided. 

And all was luq^piness — naught to alloy I 
No shadow but for a moment e'en 
Darkened the subtile halo that 
Poiired 'round all its cheerful sheen; 
No thought of gloomy sorrow^ sat 
For one small moment there to check the joy. 

'Twas a picture-thought of the bye-and-bye; 
Bright faces by the score were there 

Of friends loved in the pleasant past. 
And in those bowers they looked so fair 
I knew the vision could not last, — 
Like other dreams 'twould vanish from the eye. 

Indeed it fled, as dreams will ever fly. 
That glad and radiant visio)i! 

The happy throngs and music soft, 
The vales and flowers Elysian, 

And leafy vine-shades hung aloft, 
Vanished, — in all but golden meuKU-y! 




JiQY)E. 

Love is a sweet and radiant flower, 
That holds our senses for many an hour 
Enthralled within its bewitching power. 



LINES TO LAKE PONTCH ARTRAINE, 



1^'*^^ 




0^ ^% LpKB PeMgHpRTRpmS. 

/ATEUY gem! i gaze 

Oil thy lustre-flecked breast, 
^ And its pale sheen conveys 
To my soul's gloomy rest 
Vague iiiii)ressions; the night, 

And the spectre-like calm 
Of the moon's })allid light, 

Like spiritual balm 
Oasts a spell o'er thy wave — 
O'er thy legended wave! 

Through the vapors I see 

White flitting forms dancing 
In mystic revelry 

Over thy swells, glancing 
In strange, salient lines 

Ih^tween Earth's sombre plain 
And High Heaven's confines 

In lights that swell and wane . . 
With the gleam of their eyes — 
Changing gleam of their eyes! 

They're the spirits of those 

Who have sunk 'neath thy waves — 
Those who in death repose 

'Neath thy current which la,ves 
And caresses their forms — 

Spirits that linger, loath 
To depart, and in swarms 

Dance along on the growth 



POEMS; BY HOMER P. BRANCH. 



Of thy shores near their dead — 
Near the dust of their dead! 

Now in shade, now in light, 

They alternately glide. 
In a crazy, wild flight. 

And ne'er deign to. abide 
For a moment in place: — 

Zephyr-tossed and bestrewji 
They engage in a race 

By the light of the moon, 
And in wildered flight vie — 
In ])hantasmic flght vie! 

They dance along on thy shore, 

Like light sylph-shadows blown; 
And in concert deplore. 

With a resonant moan 
My intrusion, while I 

Stroll along on thy strand; 
And my steps in reply 

Soft-resound from the sand, 
As I moodily dream — 
Lonely, moodily dream I 



PeUR QRf[R]E8. 

A PRETTY face, 
Good taste, a perfect form, a pure heart; — ■ 

Oh, would to grace 
That these four charms were never found apart! 



THE SPIRIT BRIDE. 




^THE %MRW BRIDE,* 



f 



.r 



■|^y OMEBODY comes in the g-loom of night, 
Through the listless haze and the dark, 
Somebody comes like a fairy wight 
Through the stygian shades — and hark: 

On the winds a dream of music floats 

Like seraphine far away strains. 
And loving sighs are borne in the notes 

Through the hallowed calm that reigns, 

'Tis the song of angels floating down 
From the realms of beauty and bliss, — 

A song of the seas where sorrows drown, 

Loosed from care by the ]oy-nym[)h's kiss, — 

A song that tells me in whispered breath 

That a form in that angel throng 
Mortally parted from me by death 

Will be with me the whole night long. 

Oh, my heart is tilled with love untold. 
And with joy that others know not, 



* An anecdote is told in Alabama of a ^-oung man, resident some 
years ago in the romantic region of the Gulf coast, who on the eve of 
his first day of wedded life was deprived of his bride, a most lovely 
young lady, by sudden death. From that time until he also yielded to 
the Inexorable Summons, five years afterward, the young nian occu- 
pied the same house to which he had led his young bride as her future 
home. During these years he lived in the strange hallucination that 
the spirit of his dejjarted wife came down from the Realm of Peace 
regularly at set of sun to remain until dawn; and he was often, in the 
evening hours, heard speaking in language of endearment to the lovely 
shadow he fancied present. 



6 POEMS; BY HOMER P. BRANCH. 

As my angel to my breast I hold 
Ev'ry night in my humble cot. 

Sweet spirit! she comes with a step as slight 

As the heaving of virtue's breast, 
And her breath is warm and her eyes are bright 

And she hills me to calm, sweet rest. 

She moves about in a clond of balm, 

And her face it is fond and fair; 
To my soul she sings a gentle psalm 

As sweet as the tenderest prayer. 

In her fond caress I sleep and dream, 

Aye, dream of the times long ago. 
When naught in Heaven on high could seem 

So benign as our lives lielow. 

But morning comes with its craze and its care, 
Its passions, its work and its strife, 

All the ills which I alone must bear 
Through the allotted time of life. 

Then she wafts back to the glowing strand, ' 

O'er the paradise-river wide, 
To the valleys of the Better Land — 

She's the Angel of Light, my Bride I 




Yes, Mabel, thou art beautiful— that is, thy face is, 
But thou art sadly lacking in all other graces. 



WALTZ SONG— FRIENDSHIP'S ROSES. 









1 



^ HIP lightly, LiLA, lightly now, 
See the merry waltzers gliding 
Whirling, airily as Fairies, 
Sweetly to the airs confiding 
All their thoughts in pleasant mazes,- 
Thrilled with pleasure, iindeciding 
On they go nor dream of sorrow. 

Never brooding o'er, nor chiding, 
Past displeasures; — so, dearest, let us 
Walt/ now to the music's guiding. 



PRIERD§HIP'§ ReiE§. 

Dear garlands of sweet flowers 
That we pluck in blissful hours 

Are friendship's roses rare; 
Chaplets of all pleasing hues. 

Rich blossoms bright and fair. 
Moistened with the honeyed dews 
Of everlasting joy! 
Bouquets, are they, in beauty dight. 
Blooming ever through day and night, 
Bringing to us pure delight, 
Dispelling all alloy! 



POEMS; BY HOMER P. BRANCH. 




■flT'f HERE'S a time to laugh and a time to weep, 
||j There's a time to wake and a time to sleep, 
^ And, aye, a time to dance! 
There is a time to think of solemn things. 
And a time for thought to fly on the wings 
Of Pleasure's gay advance. 

Then, hey oh ! let us whirl and glide and swing. 
To the thrill of the harp and the fiddle string, 

Now while we have the chance. 
For to-morrow morn may come with a cloud, 
And grief's wail be bor)ie on the winds aloud. 

Oh, now's the time to dance! 




^HB ppIDBR'g "¥B§." 

Of all the boons that Providence e'er deign'd to bless 
Us with, none, to the stricken bachelor, seems 
So great as a coy maiden's sweetly-spoken "yes." — 
It fills his erst blank soul with glorious dreams. 



* When the cholera plague was raging in Spain, it was said that 
greater numbers died of fright than of the plague, and many were 
afflicted with the lethal disease because an overwhelming dread ren- 
dered them incapable of the healthful resistance of mental force. This 
was brought to the attention of the government by the physicians, and 
an edict was sent forth connnanding that the people be convened in 
rural places as much as possible, and their altention drawn from the 
plague by exciting sports, music and dancing. The edict was obeyed 
and the effect was so happy that in a few weeks the plague was under 
control, and was finally swept completely from the land. 



MY SERAPHIXE VISITORS. 



^, .--~^...>^^ 



^ ILENTLY on wings of ether 
^^ [n my dreams there come to me 
kiJ/ V^isions of unearthly beauty 

That caress me loviiigly; 
And they float, these lovely shadows, 

O'er iny curtained couch all night, 
Each dispensing sweet enchantment, 

Joy benign and calm delight. 

Vestures of transjijarent whiteness 

Wave about their lustral forms, 
Glist'ning softly in the moonbeams, 

Kissed by airs in tender storms; 
And their silver-gleaming tresses 

As they move in silent flight 
Mildly light the darkness round them 

Lending beauty to the night. 

Ah, they come and lie beside me, 

Hold my head with tender care, 
Soothe my sleep with happy thoughts. 

All night staying fondly there; 
Thus I rest in arms of zephyr. 

Closely pressed in warm embrace — 
Warmly pressed to spectral bosoms 

With their warmth upon my face! 

They're the spirits of the loved ones 
Who have passed to homes divine 



10 POBMS; BY HOMER P. BRANCH. 

In the second life's Great Kingdom 
Within Heaven's borderline; 

But at night in bands all joyous 
Flock they to the mortal one 

Whom of all earth they loved the most, 
Whom of eartli now love alone. 

Bright they come on Beulah's odors, 

Floating on the breath of low, 
Sweet mnsic, mild, melodions, 

And their Fairy faces glow — 
Glow with happiest expression! — 

As they hover o'er my bed, 
And their lips in kisses toach me 

As they nestle round my head. 






A saintly soul is ev'r giving 

Through the sunlight and the mist 
In the Valley of the Living, 

All on which our hearts insist; 
All the joy and happiness, 
All the outlets from distress, 
All that makes our sorrows less, 

All that heart can wish — the core 

Of her never ending store I 

She is Love, forevermore. 



SONG OF AYUB AI. AHMED. 11 

§0RG 0F p¥UB PL piipBD. | 

P A R T I. 

AM riding alone in the desert; — 
Oil, tlie parching thirst, the hot-driving winds, 
^^ The scorch'd sands, the desolation I A vast 
Stretch of sterile plain! How many hath here 
Died of the misery of famine! Oh, 
Allah, thou hast made the chihbvn of men 
Strong, and given unto them good camels, 
l>esigned to endure thirst, else the desert 
Would be the grave of thousands! God is great! 
This loneliness is sore to the heart, yet 
Hath a grandeur that leaveth its mark on 
The soul, for in the absence of His great 
Hlesfliiigs our tluSughts dwell with the Almighty. 

I come to a fountain shaded with j)abns 
In the midst of the desert. Here thousands 
Thank Allah for the cool water, grateful 
Shade. l)lissful rest from the blistering sands. 

Asa fountain in the dreary desert 
Is my Love among the maids of Islam. 
Oh, the air breathes blandly sweet, like nectar 
Of enchanted herbs, as my eyes dwell on 
My Love! The surpassing fair proportions 
Of her angelic form delight my soul 
And make me to revel ever in dreams 
Of beauty, heedful of naught but my Love. 
Her fingers are of the pure white described 
in the glassy ices of the froz'n North, 
But their touch is as pleasant as the breath 



12 POii-MS; BY HOMER P. BRANCH. 



Of summer winds. Her cheeks are radiant 
As the pink tints that rest against the clouds 
At set of sun. Her feet, devoid of shoe 
Or sandal, placed within a dainty wreath 
Of roses white, would be in contrast just 
As fair as lilies of the flowing Nile 
Worn on the breast of an Affric maid. 

My journey 'cross the sunburned sands is short. 
For my thoughts dwell with my Love. Oh, she is 
The jewel of Araby! Her eyes are 
Like the stars that light the night from 
Out the firmament. Among the fairest 
She is the pearl. Her voice is like the low, 
Sweet chime of bells' that comes from far away 
On the dewv airs of the early raorn 



PART II. 

What is it that sparkles within mine eyeV 
What is it that waketh my soul as from 
A calm sleep to tremble in ecstasy, 
To dance in rapture, to sing with gladness? 
It is my Love! Who is my Love? Oh, drink 
Of ripe wine drawn forth by laughing virgins, 
Whose eyes would fascinate thee, whose beauty 
Would drown thy heart in mild passion of joy! 
Let them embrace thee, and pour perfumed balm 
Over thee, administer opiates 
To thee, sweet to thy taste and snch as would 
Bring thee happy vision; let them lead 
Thee where stirring music dwelleth ever 
In buoyant harmony, where flowers grow, 
Suns shine, soft winds blow a soothing coolness. 



SONG OF AYUB AL AHMED. 13 

And all appeareth like a pleasant dream. 

Let thy sonl enjoy the delectable 

Prospect, let thine heart be exceeding glad, 

And in fancy ci'eate thou a chaste maid 

More lovely in thy sight than all beside - 

A gem among the beauties of the Earth. 

Make her to cherish thee till all thy life, 

'Yhe world, the heavens, is one great dream of joy, 

With her and thee floating ever thi'otigh sweet 

("louds of balm, through bright ways and pleasant 

In inseparable companionship. — [scenes 

If with fancy's thought thon canst create thus 

Beautifully well, thou knowest my Love. 



PART III. 



1 walk by the quiet sea in the hush 
Of the morning. I look upon the bine 
Waters, the white foam, the shifting fog. 
! see the deep gold of the rising sun 
('reeping out of the east. How beautiful 
[s the rising sun ! Its glorious light 
Spreads out over the bosom of the sea 
In a dream of dainty colors. I dream 
Of my Love as 1 stroll along the sands. 

Bright Houris molded her form in the womb, 
Allah beamed a gracious smile from out His 
(Joldeu throne upon her birth and blessed her, 
And the influences of Heaven lent 
1 1 er special grace through childhood. These happy 
Chances left their reflex in her perfect 
Individuality. She holdeth 
Me in a trance of joy. I gi-eet my Love! 



14 rOE>TS; BY HOMER P. BRANCH. 

Embrace me now, Zaada! Thine arms po3S3S3 
Supernal grace, Ihy breast a witching charm. 
I press thee now to my heart. Oh, who hath 
Ever described the iutf^nsc joy of love? 
Mine eyes rest on thy hand. Such nngers could 
Command the ho'na^e of the universe. 
Thy teeth are of the undiscovered pearls 
Of ocean, richer white, and purer gems 
Than the transparent ivory that girts 
The comely ankle of the Feri queen. 

Oh, thy voice beguileth me to wander 
Through the verdant valleys, to look upon 
The lilies, to listen to the tunefid 
Harps of the daughters of music, to breathe 
The odors of vineyards, to watch the sun 
Break from the clouds and shine upon the hills! 
My Love, thou art the essence of my soul. 






As THE wavering gleams of the moonlight 
Dart o'er the beautiful sheen of the dewy plain's 
Exjanse, searching out each little flower 
That tiiey may give fresh richness to its small 
Life, and beauty to its hue, by kissing 
'1 he bloom that night-time hides, so the kindly 
Smiles that play unforced upon the faces 
Of those dear to us do beam into our 
Souls and kiss back to a holier warmth 
The fading radiance of kind regard 
And true friendship that may be for a time 
Completely overcast with Sorrow's night. 



TEIIXE EYES. 15 



WEETEST reveries and trances 
Through my linppy senses roll 
As I dwell within the glances 
Of thine eyes, 
And the light of love advances, 

And shines full upon my soul, 
While a thousaiid pleasant fancies 
Fall and rise. 

Ah, the golden light embraces, 

\\ itli a passionate delight. 
All the scintillating graces 

Of thine eyes, 
And their beauty interlaces 

With strange \isions, glad and bright, 
Of seraphim dancing races 
In the sl<ies. 



A MOTTiKk's is the warmest heart, 
In life she acts the fondest part 

It is most truly said; 
A mother's is the fondest tear 
That falls upon the collined bier 

Of child when it is dead. 



16 POEMS; BY HOMER P. BRANCH. 



-.••s^5«^-.-<i^i«s^-c 



^-^ H^\vvl!i? 



K"^ AS HE TOLD IT TO THE SCOUT. 







AD a f ght last night with the Injniis? Well, 
'Twas a rusty night to be out, 
% Au' the rain was as dense as ever fell — 
Say I ain't you a gover'nient scout? 

Thought sol I used to be a scont myself, 

Then got into the ranging way, 
An' have staid by it, ez I make more pelf, 

An' am free to go or to stay. 

Your speakin' o' the rain, the woh^es, the fight. 

An' the numerous Sioux about, 
Puts me in mind o' jest one sich a night 

Some years ago, an' I was out. 

The thunders roared an' the lightnin' flashed, 

An' the wind blew a hurricane, 
The elements wrastled an' tore an' clashed 

Ez if the night had gone insane. 

I was ridiu' well armed along the range, 

Snug-bestrode of a broncho stanch, 
But I felt bewildered an' somew'at strange, 

For I'd lost the trail to the ranch. 

The night it was cold an' dolefully dark; 

The coyotes howled along my trail 
Like scores of demons let loose on a lark. 

An' I felt jest a leetle pale. 



COWBOY JACK'S STORY. 17 

To complicate things I lieard a warwhoop — 

A fierce yell that echoed an' broke 
Like the Wild Witch's shriek o' Griz/dy Loiii^, 

An' nigh startled me out o' my "yoke." 

I sat still an' dumb like a chap that's scared 

An didn't know what to do next, 
An' Spry, ray broncho, jest stood still an' stared 

Ez if she, too, was herplexed. 

A boom 'o guns an' a white man's shout, 

Ez he cheered his pards to fight. 
Aroused me in a jiff to turn about, 

An' we dashed back into the night. 

The yells an' the shootin' kept us in line, 
An' we made for it quick ez we could; 

1 prilled my revolvers an' ol' carbine, 
They were spunky an' loaded good. 

We landed plunk into a hundred Sioux, 

Bloody de'ils all paintf^d an' stark; 
Spry jumped an' [ shot an' we i^lunged clean thro' 

Without losin' a bit o' bark. 

We came to a halt in a mover's camp, 

An' was given a hearty cheer; 
Wp all j'ined hands an' gave the fiends the cramp, 

So they skuddled an' left us clear. 

The night an' the rain went off with the Reds, for 
We had fought till the mornin' hour; 

We was mighty glad that we'd closed the war, 
An' was feelin' far from sour. 



18 POEJIS; BY HOMER P. BRANCH. 

We was sbakin' hands like pard an' friend, 

A\hen aslirieA startled ns, so wild 
That every hair was brought on its end — 

'Twas the shriek of a little child. 

A sneakin' Red had come np on the sly 

An' had captured a little tod, 
An' was ridiu' swift toward the northern sky — 

Ge-whiz! how he got o'er the sod! 

The rest of 'em j'lned him, an' o.Tthey went 
A scuddin' toward Okl Camp Meade, 

Aud't seemed 's tbougli the de'il himself had lent 
'Em especial powers o' speed 

The mother shrieked that her little Marie 
Would be burned to death at the stake, 

An' the father was ez crazy ez she, 
An' the boys was all in a shake. 

r threw oft' my coat, jumped into the yoke, 
An' pulled my hatchet from the sack; 

Afore yoii could wink I was goin' like smoke 
Stoutly settled on ol' Spry's back 

An' 'fore I knew jest what we was about 

We was among them pesky Reds, 
An' \ jerked the child from tlie clutch o' a lout 

An' broke in a half dozen heads. 

Then f'pry sprung abaufc, (oh, sli3 knew the trick! 

She learnt it while herding the cow, 
For she was raised on the range), an' right quick 

We left 'em without ev'n a farewell bow. 



COWBOY JACK'S STORY. 10 



The fiends turned for us, but Spry was a goer, 

An' we gave 'em a (;ra/.y chase, 
Till after awhile they gave us the floor, 

For we had the best o' the race. 

I rode into camp like a Knight of Old, 
With Beauty hung faint on my arm, 

An' I felt like a Hero, brave an' bold, 
AVith a heart beatin' strong an' warm. 

The boys pulled me down soon rz I said "whoal" 
The mother hugged me tight an' kissed 

Me just as my mother did years ago — 
Tn the years gone back into mist! 

1 cried like a child, sir, I know I did. 

When that mother's arm twined my neck — 

It was as a life-line thrown out amid 
The remains o' a moral wreck. 

l^^or I had been tough in ray cowboy life. 

Hadn't always hung by the right; 
Had mingled a good deal in frontier strife. 

Which is seldom exactly white. 

An' then when the ol' man came for'ard an' stood 
Pale an' tremblin' an' seemin' faint, 

An' shook my bad hand as if it was good, 
An' blessed me as one would a saint — 

Well, 1 had to surrender right there an' then I 
Said I: "Kind friends, Vm Cowboy Jac\; 

Hain't been no account since I can't tell wdien, 
An' run with a dare-devil pack. 



20 POEMS; BY HOMER P. BRANCH. 

"I'm known here'bonts as a mighty tough case, 
A bad egg when it comes to light — 

A fellow what's got a pretty hard face 
When sized up by civilized light. 

"But if God lets me live a day or two more 

I'll swear ott'an' brace up right; 
I'll k:cA my bad habits out o' the door, 

An' tight 'em with all my might. 

"If the mother here, God bless her good heart! 

She appears like a Christian true, 
Will give me a lift with a prayer for a start 

I'll try to be a man, true-blue " 

The mother knelt on the brown prairie grass, 

An' in accents tender an' low, 
Thanked (.7od that the life of her blue-eyed lass 

Had been saved, that the cruel blow 

Had been warded off; then she prayed for Jack, 
Called me brave, big-hearted an' good. 

Asked God in his greatness to take me back — 
An' she told Him she knew He would — 

Into the great walls o' His wondrous fold. 

Into the arms o' His great love; 
That my name ez a convert be enrolled 

On the big book there above. 

This was all I heard, for objects grew dim. 
An' 1 seemed to float — float — away — 

In a cold, dizzy dream, to the dark brim 
0' a storm-beaten ocean bay — 



COWBOY JACK'S STORY. 21 



To a cottage small on a hillside bai-e, 

The picture o' my boyhood home, 
An' I seemed to dwell for a moment there 

In the warmth o' my mother's room. 

Then T felt no more — I was like one dead — 
But when [ 'wakened from the spell 

i found myself in a warm, cozy bed, 
Feelin' weak like, but middlin' well. 

My pard, Big Bill, was settin by my side, 
Fannin' me with his ol' slouch hat. 

An' when T "came to" I thought he'd a died 
With his laughin', winkin' an' that. 

"Whist!" said he; "Yo' fainted, ol' boy, yer hurt- 

A gash in the back o' yer head — 
Wonder it hadn't laid yo' in the dirt 

Instead o' a snug feather bed. 

"The Eedskins must have given you a slit 
In your scrap with 'em down the creek, 

But as good luck has it yer with us yit, 
An'll be all right in a week." 

Then he M'eiit to the door an' called the folks, 
An' capered so he'd clear gone daft, 

Told haphazard all his stories an' jokes. 
An' hollered an' beliered an' laughed. 

An' I thought the rest as crazy as he, 

When they dashed in, every one, 
An' the gal I saved bounced up an' hugged me, 

An' the rest did as she bea^an. 



22 POEMS; BY HOMER P. BRANCH. 

Said Bill: "01' pard, yo' lit iu the right nest 
When yo' struck that mover's camp — 

See yer mother, sister, dad an' the rest, 
Ain't yo' tickled yo' worthless s<;ainp?" 

'Twas my mother ez sure ez you're alive, 

An' my sweet little sister, too, 
That was born long after I came to strive 

In the land o' the savage bioux, 

'Twas my dad an' the boys that I helped that night 

In the storm on the open plain, 
An' sister dear that I saved (bless her sight!) 

From the fire-stake's horror an' pain. 

They had come out west in search o' good times; 

'1 hey was pretty hard up back there, 
But they'd been killed ez dead ez Poor 01' Grimes 

if 't hadn't been for me'n' the mare. 

The folks settled down on this very ranch, 

An' here we all live to-day, 
Right on the ol' trail to Fort Commanche, 

Eighty mile from there, so they say. 

We're happy ez cherubs the whole year through; 

Say! ain't it gettin' nigh 'bout nooia? 
Better "stake" your hoss dowu there in the slough, 

We'll have dinner now pretty soon. 

To-night we're goin' to have a little dance, 

An' a weddiu' if I may say; 
It ain't often you scouts fall in with a chance 

For fun, so you had better stay. 



COWBOY JACK'S STORY. 23 

It's goin' to be quite a time, you see, 

For Captain Joe Tninms, o' Fort Knapp, 

Is goin' to be j'ined with little Marie — 
They say he's a tine yonng chap. 

From hearsay he must be about your size, 

An' — wdiat's that? So you're Captain Tuuims! 

An' here comes Marie on the run. My eyes I 
They're a huggin' like two ol' chnmsl 



■ II 






Down the listless, peaceful shore 
Of the dreaming thoughts of yore, 
Thro' the olden, 
Aye, and golden, 
Recollections of the past, 

To-night my soul is roving- 
Roving 'neath the mellow skies 
Of those pleasant memories — 

Beguiled iii transport, moving 
Thro' the vaulted, vague and vast 
Lobbies of youth's early bower, 
Basking in its sun and shower. 
Bless the memory of those days, 
Bless their M'ai-m recurring ravs! 



« 



24 POICMS; BY HOMER P. BRANCH. 



5FHB L0MR'Si(eeREBg§I9R. 

'r'-^'t^- '--^t^ •■-^^t^.S 



N thy hammock 'neath the shady elms, Love, 
I saw thee lyiug, lulled to still slumber 
^ By the fondling breeze, thy goldeu tresses 
Coyly trembling down along thy gently 
Heaving bosom as though they fondly sought 
To nestle near thy warm heart. Thy maiden 
Form in rounded elegance molding its 
Graceful outlines up in naive relief 
From wavy streams of luxurious, dreamy 
Laces, and costume of snowy whiteness, 
Glowed pure and beautiful, like the pictured 
Memory of a saint, in the dappled 
Sunbeams that struggled through the leaf-laden 
Shadow-realms of thy sylvan canopy 
To mingle astir amid thy graces. 
Thy white transparent mantle languidly 
Floating like a vail of fairy vapor 
Iiound the perfect contour of thy sylphlike 
Image would have caused the proudest spirit 
From the w^orld Elysian to vanish 
In a ]Dain of jealousy. Thy dimpled 
Cheeks were radiant with smiles so sweetly 
Kind they seemed to pour a gentle halo 
Round thy head and were thy soul's reflection. 

There by thy side for a moment I stood, 
Awed to enraptured silence, drinking in 
With thirsty eye the draught of loveliness 
Presented, nor dared to move for tender 



THK MISER'S trance;. 25 



Fear that T sliould break the subtle magic 

Of thy dreams; but, bolder growing-, almost 

Without the reckoning, I stooped and stole 

The joy of one fond kiss from thy sweet lips — 

Then stole cjuickly out into the shadow 

Of the trees and watch VI thee from their staid depths 

And passed the hour in pleasant reverie 

Till thou awoke, then came forthwith to claim 

The promenade thou promised yesterday. 



-•'^^^•'iJ>-'M 



THE pi§ER'§ 5ZRpp^(5E.* 

My soul walks alone in the gloom 
Of a night that is deathly still, 

And nought can be heard in the room 
( For it is so fearfully still ! ) 

The clay that lies stretched on the bier 
Is all thnt can be seen in here; 
And it shows what 1 seem to be — 
Something chill that none wish to seel 

They wistfully think I am dead. 
Hut as sure as I've got a head 



* All o'.d i=torv, from the early folk-lore of Wisconsin, tells of an old 
miser who was foviiid apparently dead in his room one severe niornina: 
in winter. The'-e were those who wanted the old man's gold, of wliicli 
be was supposed to have a great deal, but every person who made any 
attempt to enter the room wherein he lay, was seized with a nameless 
terror almost before crossing- the threshold, and invariably fled from 
the spot, crazed for honrs afterward. At the end of three days tlie old 
man came bacK to life, and some superstitious people believe tliat he 
never died again, and that he never will die, but is kept continuously 
alive as a special instrument of Satan. 



20 POEMS; BY HOMER P. BRANCH. 



When the third morn throws 
Her l)eams o'er the snows 
I will arise and go forth among men 
Tn my usual manner again. 



I can't help this seeming death, 

This loss of action aucL breath, 

But my sold can keep watch like a ghost 

And keep back with awe the eager host 

That would liurry me into the gi'ound. 

Then the depths of my money vaults sound. 

But how chilly and dread and queer 
1 feel as I lie on the bier! 
keep devout watch, restless soul, 
Lest I become food for the ghoul, 
And thou be hurled down into the keep 
Of Eternity's fathomless deep! 




KIRD M0RD§. 

An angel-serenade 

To hearts that are broken 
Ts the gentle love-raid 

Of words kindly spoken. 



TROUBLED .SLKEP. 27 



TOeUBLED SLEEP. 

HE Fates weep 
As they keep 
Vigils o'er our troubled sleep; 
Yes, tliey weep, 
And they creep 
Softly round us while we sleep; 
Moving slightly, 
Treading lightly, 
While insanely we dream 

In the phantom-palled night — 
Vv ildly, restlessly dream 

In the fiend-haunted night! — 
And their whispers, 
Soft as vespers 
That tremble on the air 
Of eve with sweet declare, 
Are oft broken — 
Aye, are bi'oken! — * 
By the wild moans 
Of the sleeping, 
And by the gijoans 
And the weeping 
Caused by troubles sweeping 
Without number 

Through the brain. 
While in slumber 
We complain 
In agonized despair! 



Dark spirits gloat 
( As thev float 



'28 POEMS; BY HOMER P. BRANCH. 

Before the. visions of the mind) 
On our 
Trembling fear; 
And they rear 
To the imagination's blind 
Devoir - 
With fierce menai;es that appall! 
Oh, how we shudder in their thrall 
As grim Nightmare hovers thus 

Over us I How we cry 
At the dread that covers us - 

How we ill anguish try 
To throw off the horror — the chill — 
The excessive fright— the wild thrill 
The mutations of fear and hate, 
That render the soul desperate! 

Demons laugh 
As they quaff 
Evil from our troubled sleep; 
Aye, they laugh. 
And they chaff 
At our frenzy while we sleep; 
Fiercely glancing, 
. Madly dancing, 
While crazily we dream 

In the darkness and gloom — 
In wildered orgasm dream 

Through night-time's dreary gloom ! — 
And their gestures, 
Wild as vestures 
Of darkened storm-clouds torn 
In ragged parts forlorn 



TROUBLED SI.KKP. 29 



By the raging- 
Uii assuaging 
Anger of the 

Furions wind — 
Hurling of the 

Violent wind! 
Ajjpall us till resigned 
In quasi-death 

We recline 
\^ ithout a breath 
(Jf desigji 
Until roused by the morn. 

But angels sing, 
As they wing 
On hallowed flight through silent night 
And gloom; 
Ves, they sing, 
And they bring 
Kepose and quiet and delight, 
Perfume 
Of flowers and sweet balm of rest 
To soothe the agitated breast — 
And they move to and fro 
In the zephyrs overhead, 
Ann they breathe soft and low 
All around our pillowed bed. 
Till by submission to their will 
Our throbbing hearts grow calm and still. 
And we are lulled in peaceful sleep — 
In blissful slumber long and deep! 



30 POEMS; BY HOMER P. BRANCH. 

OWN a hot aud clingy valley 
Turbulently flows a river, 
On whose banks there frantically 

Writhing, wofully aqniver, 
Lingers a tumultuous band 
E'er treading up and down the strand — 
A restless, wild-eyed glaring gang, 

Who shriek in concert evermore 
Ac<;ompaniments to the clang 

Of waves that beat against the shore ;- 
And j)itifully moan aud wail 
And tell a disconnected tale 

Of the pains, the pangs, and the vast 

Torments they endure, while aghast 
They swelter in the scorching gale. 

Phantoms they! the stygian souls 
Of ambitious mortals who died 
'1 he slaves of vanity aud pride — 
Souls more infernal than the ghouls 
That feed with greediness dread 
On the corses of the dead — 
Souls of mortal hyi^ccrites who 
When on earth made much ado 
Of righteousness and virtue, stood 
As perfect models of the good. 
Prayed long and loud in public place 
With upturned eye and beaming face; 



PHANTASMA INFERNO. 31 

But beneath which, h^w-seathing, \ny 

A life of vice that bursted forth 
In foul and odious array 
At last and fiercely swept away 

Theii- e\'ry \estiment of worth. 

Their character, by mean deceipt, 

(Though maudlin, vicious, mean and low,) 
Upheld so as to seem replete 

V\'ith actions bright with holy glow, 
Came forth at last so that the world 
Could see their vicious lives unfurled 
And shudder as their souls were hurled 
Down at the (h'mon's beastly feet. 

Remorse eternal is their doom, 
Their dwelling place the morbid gloom 
That spreads its heated vapors o'er 
Dark Hades' evei-iasting roar. 

They sob and shriek and madly sigh. 
And linger 'neath that canopy, 
The sullen dread-cloud of distress, 
And rave in wild uuhap]jiness; 
They linger there upon the strand 

And watch the streams hot eddies whirl 

Into many a vortex-curl. 
While theii- parched mouths and tongue's expand, 
And torturously crack and dry 

In burning fever, and their hands 
They wring in frenzy, and they cry 

And cringe, and fiercely tramp the sands. 



32 POEMS; BY HOMER P. BRANCH. 

A ROMANTIC INDIAN LKGHND. 



LOOM rested o'er the once l)right Ininting 
grounds 
Of the Sihoo nation. A blighting air 
Had killed all germs of life, and naught prevailed. 
The tribes of the northern woods were speechless, 
Their laud the abode of desolation. 

The trees in the deep and lonely forrest 
Swayed fitfully, but noiselessly find solemn. 
No note of bird or cry of animal 
Broke the stillness throughout the livelong day, 
And all was hushed in the sublimity 
Of a silence that seemed perpetual. 

The proud and stately Sihoo warrior 
Followed no more the trail of enemy, 
Nor hunted game, for all had passed away, 
Stricken down in the midst of seeming health 
And plenty by a pestilence of death 
That came and made no sign nor gave a pain, 
But laid its chill hand upon its victim 
And the form fell blighted and prone, and moved 
No more. Unburried lay the bleaching bones 
Of honored sires and youthful braves. Mothers 
Of heroic warriors lay as did 
The common beasts, their skeletons exposed 
To the winter's snowless blast. The resting 
Places of even the fairest maidens 



THE LAST OF THE SIHOOS. 38 

Of the tribe were destitute of climbing 
Vines and lionoved tokens. The very earth 
Seemed stricken of the plague, and to be dead 
With all that erst, in any way, was life. 

Winter sank into the void of seasons 
Past, and his icy manacles gave way 
To the warm influence of Spring, but Death 
Still reigned, like a spectre weird, o'er the mute 
And pulseless universe, blighting all things 

Thus Springtime passed without a sound to roll 
Its echo out upon the dull stillness, 
But when Summer's warm rain and sunshine came 
1 hey seemed to charm the deathly plague away 
And to spirit in the wonted noises 
Of the woods, coax back the singing birds, 
Fill the groves and caverns with beasts and game 
And start the stagnate waters into bright 
And pure streams. A beauty, such as ne'er 
Before had dwelt in the verdant compass 
Of a wilderness, glowed from the combined 
Scenery of woods and streams, hills and vales. 
Verdure sprouted forth luxuriantly; 
FloM'ers of the loveliest hues, fragrant 
With the most pleasant odors, decked the earth 
As if it were a gentle bride upon 
The wedding morn; and Nature smiled, although 
Xo human eye had penetrated there 
Since the pestilence had cast its shadow 
O'er the land. 'J he blooming growth, the witching 
Loveliness, the charming grandeur, were all 



34 POEMS; BY HOMER P. BRANCH. 

The primetive, unseen, unknown, delights 
Of a new and undiscovered country 

But one sunny day an Indian maiden, 
Beautiful of face and figure, but sad 
Of look as if a sorrow deep had preyed . 
Long upon the energy of her soul, — 
And tender, too, she was in years, — wandered 
Down a pleasant valley, chanting a pi'ayer 
To the Gri'eat Spirit, the Blessed Giver, 
To visit her with human company—- 
People with a new tribe the deserted 
Land in which she was the sole survivor. 

Vohata, meaning Little Princess, was 
This maiden's name; the daughter, only child. 
Of the great chief of the erst proud Sihoos — 
Zaboji — now prone with his warriors 
And people in the everlasting sleep. 

The Little Princess had survived the plague 
Through a charm wrought in her infancy 
Upoii her destiny, by a mighty 
ISfagician from the Land of W^armer Winds, 
Asa mark of friendship toward Zaboji 
Who had lent the south tribes succor in time 
Of famine. LTnder this charm her life was 
Protected from death by the Great Sj^irit 
For one thousand moons, and she was to act 
In many noble ways, do many deeds 
Of kindness, win fame as a great princess. 
And leave a blessed memory among 
The saci'ed legends of the northern tribes. 



THE LAST OF THE SIHOOS. 35 

The paiu of seeing tribe and kindred die 
Away as if stung with a poison wind, 
And all living creatures pass to silence 
Except herself, was a disaster which 
Had overwhelmed her childhood days. Although 
Of age a child, her grief and loneliness 
Had brought upon her the thought and feeling 
Of maturer years; and her look was that 
Of wisdom mellowed by meditation. 
She had dwelt in a small wigwam among 
The hills, fed by a pair of turtle-doves 
That brought her nuts and fruit from the sunny 
Land of Warmer Winds, aided by Providence 
To be upon the w'ing unceasingly, 
And to tirelessly fly too and fro 
Upon their errands of love and mercy. 

Bnt wTien the stu[)efying plague had ceased, 
And Nature sprouted forth again, she passed 
From a long dream of apathy, and longed 
Once more to mingle with the throngs of braves 
And maids, to watch the dance, to hear the songs, 
To listen to the counsel of the wise 
And live among the creatures of her race. 

'Twas night, and Vohata came forth from her 
Small wigwam after many days of prayer 
And fasting, to feel the fresh'mng breezes 
As they stirred the cool air into healthful 
Hraughts, which mild-careering thro' the flowered 
Groves brought fragrance on their every breath, 
And lent a soft influence as they met 
In gentle dalliance and kissed and sped 



36 POEMS; BY HOMER P. BRANCH. 

Away. The dew was falling fresh upon 
The grass; the insects of the night gave forth 
Their varied sounds; the wildcat and the wolf, 
Defiant in their cloak of darkness strolled 
Abroad, and started the shrill echoes with 
Occasional cries; the full moon beamed 
Its neutral smiles o'er all; the stars twinkled 
Dimly through the gathering mists, the owl 
And the whip-'or-will gave dreary signal 
Of the sleeping hour, but Nature, with these 
Few exceptions, lay in a bland repose. 

Vohata looked abroad; the hour was 
Wildly beautiful. To the forrest child 
The calm grandeur of the night is ev'r fraught 
\\ ith soothing mildness, l-ieneath the swaying 
Boughs of the tall oaks Vohata finished 
Her address of fervent supplication 
For companionship. She felt, wretchedly, 
The mockery of solitary life. 
And left her prayer with heaven. 

Hai-k ! down 
The river comes, in song of harvest jubilee. 
The voices of Koshenonnuck maidens, 
Sounding the praises of the shining sun. 
The dewy moon, the rainy cloud, and all 
That brings abQndan<;e to the world 
Of golden corn, wild rice, and roots and herbs. 

The brave and hardy Koshenonnucks 
Had always allied with the Sihoo tribe 
In time of battle, and the ties between 



THE LAST OF THE SIHOOS. 37 

The two were kindly; and when Voliata 
Keai'd that harvest rapsody waft np from 
The flowing river, in that tlirice friendly 
Koshenonnuck tongue, her heart was glad 
And she straightway ran to the river bank 
And hallooed the peace-cry of her trib3. 
The shont of Hfty bia^'es came echoing back, 
And then the harvest rapsody was changed 
To the peace-song of the Koshenonnucks. 
The dulcet echo of that happy song 
Rolled down the vale on glad and buoyant winds 

The Little Princess stood out in plain view 
Upon the grassy bank and awaited 
'] he approaching friends. The Koshenonnucks, 
From time out of memory, had worshij^ped 
'i he Harvest Spirit, and in the seasons 
Of especial plenty, made excursions 
In joyous.parties through their hunting grounds 
In honor of her liberality. 
Praising her meantime in extravagant 
Feast, voluptuous dance and ecstatic song. 
Vohata knew the custom, and rejoiced 
To see the glad flotilla waft to shore. 

Twelve long canoes came dipping to the east 
Bank of the beautiful Mississippi, 
And fifty braves assisted Hfty maids 
To land, and the young chief, Tehabona, 
Straight as the tall poplar, lithe as the ash. 
Strong as the sturdy oak, stepped from the throng 
And thus addressed Vohata: 



3S POEMS; BY HOMER P. BRANCH. 

"Are the ears 
Of Tehaboiia open to the sound 
Of a spirit's voice? Do his eyes discern 
A shadow from the hap[)y hunting grounds, 
Or does he see a maiden of the lost 
People of the Pine Woods, and did he hear 
The faithful peace-cry of Zaboji's tribe?" 

Vohata, then rehearsed her history 
In the modest but pretty dialect 
Of the woodland Indians, and at times 
Her sentences glowed with eloquence as 
She recounted the ancestral glories 
Of her tribe, now faded into legend. 
She spoke with native fondness of the bright 
Region of the erst Sihoo hunting grounds. 
Dwelt on its wonderful facilities 
For game, its lavish growth of roots and herbs 
For food and medicine, its fertile soil 
That brought forth golden mai/.e abundantly, 
Its sparkling waters and sheltering woods — 
All these would be invaded by hostile 
Hordes, if left unoccupied to waste. 

Her pretty face and fervent words imj^ressed 
The young chief deeply, and thus he answered: 
"Vohata of the woodland hath spoken 
With a silver voice to Tehabona; 
Her words are like the waters of a pure 
Spring, that, murmuring 'neatli the summer ferns, 
Fills the listener's ear with charming music 
And lends him a strange infatuation. 
The chief of the Koshenonnucks is aflad 



THE LAST OF THE SIHOOS. 39 

To find, p.live, brave Zaboji's daughter. 

The Great spirit must have sjDared Vohata 

For a sjDeoial purpose, as the fierce plague 

Left her, a lone rose, in a desert dark. 

The poison wind of the deathly plague 

Did not reach the Koshenonnuck nation. 

The prairie land toward the setting sun 

Still feels the footfalls of the mocassin, 

And echoes to the hanter's brave halloo. 

The valleys of the wooded streams abound 

With villages replete with warriors; 

The flowers on the sunny hills are not 

More numerous or fair or beautiful 

Than are are the Koshenonnuck girls; in our 

^Vig•wams the mothers of a mighty tribe 

Preside; and there was Tehabona nursed. 

And there he grew to manhood's years, and there 

In battle with our enemies he won 

The title and authority of chief. 

This was but recently, y-t he would leave 

His kindred and his laurels, the ranges 

Of his youthful hunting expeditions, 

And the region of his childhood dreams 

If he could help the Sihoo maid in her 

Distress." 

Tehabona paused. The moonbeams, 
Silvery pale, poured abi'oad their calm light. 
And glittered on the young chief's waving crest. 
His look was kind and noble as his gaze 
Rested upon the heroic daughter 
Of the stricken tribe, and she drew closer 
As she felt his sympathetic power 



40 POEMS; BY HOMES P. BRANCH. 

Koiuicl about Ihem circled the faithful braves, 

Fach near unto the maiden of his choice. 

r^'uddenly above them in a white cloud 

Tlie t^pirit of the Woods appeared and said: 

"The Great Sj^rit hath graciously ordained 

That here and now Vohata and the brave 

Yoniig Tehabona shall be wed These maids 

And 3"onl lis also shall be joined in wedlock, 

It is His will. Kindly, I now pronounce 

As married each couple of this group. 

Take this good land as thy abiding })lace; 

Tarry here and cultivate the yellow maize, 

Hunt the wary deer, seek the verdent herbs, 

Gather the lucious fruit, trap the muskrat 

And the mink and utilize their downy 

Fur; be temperate and frugal in thy 

Lives, slow to quarrel, at all times merciEnl; 

Let thy ambition be to ever gain 

In knowledge, to better thy condition. 

To found in this vast wilderness a trilje 

That for intelligence will leave its mark 

L^pon the land by means of many works. 

Go not across the river to the west; 

A deathly pestilence will reign for years 

Throughout the Koshenonnuck hunting grounds. 

Hail I Tehabona, chief of a new tribe. 

From which a thousand tribes shall spring, all hail I 

Vohata, thy prayer for companionship 

Hath been paid. For better or worse, adeau!" 

AVith a departing gesture the spirit 
Dissolved and vanished on the lifting winds, 
And the crowd stood still, dazed with wonderment 



THE IvAST OF THE SIHOOS. 41 

And awe, until the voice of the young chief 

Broke the silence: "It but remains to clo 

The will of the Great Spirit. My noble [Chiefs 

Braves, ye heard the voice. The great Chief of 

By his night messenger hath commanded ; 

It is well. Here shall we devote our lives 

To peaceful deeds and industry. Let us 

Now possess the land and build our wigwams 

In this wooded vale. Vohata, princess 

Of the Sihoos, now chieftess, (by command 

Of the Great Spirit), of another tribe, 

A new nation to be nurtured within 

The playgrounds of thy childhood, accejot our 

Xew relation kindly. On thee shall 

Fall the grace to give the new-appointed 

Tribe a name." 



Vohata answered: "The warm 
Air is balmy, the moon is in its full, 
The stars shine kindly, the wildwood odors 
Float on pleasant breezes, the nightliirds call 
To each other in loving cadences; 
An hour ago the daughter of the woods 
Was wretched in a desert of despair. 
The only human creature in this vast 
Wilder Jiess, and noted not the beauty 
Of the night; but Tehabona, guided 
By the Great Spirit, and accompanied 
By his braves and maidens, approached our shore; 
Vohata heard their voices and was glad; 
The young chief and his people came to land, 



42 POEMS; BY HOMER P. BRANCH. 

Then came the Spirit of the Woods and spoke 
V Golden words. Tehabona, it is well ! 
Let us name the new tribe Waukawaurakaw, 
(Woodland Workers); let us strive to improve 
Our knowledge and oar mode of life, subdue 
Our ruder habits, encourage kindness, 
Study to be generous and thoughtful. 
Be a wise example to our people." 

Thus, a small and yoathful band, the ancient 
Waukawaumkaws began a famous life. 
And grew to be a mighty tribe, as days. 
Moons and seasons changed, and time retreated 
Into the remote shadows of the past. 



This was many years before the paleface 
Landed upon the western continent. 
Myriad tribes follow their origin 
Back to the great Waukawauinkaw nation. 
.There was a time, according to olden 
Legends, when all America was swept 
With the poison breath of a lethal plague, 
AVhen only here and there were left a few. 
As in this case of the ancient Sihoos 
And their western friends the Koshenonnucks, 
To keep the spark of human life aglow. 
Their works are left to show they have existed. 
These works are plentiful throughout our land, 
And show that the ancient Indians were 



POETRY'S THOUGHT. 43 

More energetic, wise and ambitious, 

Than their wild, grim, dark-minded descendants. 

The Waukawanmkaws worked the mines along 

The great lakes of the north; made utensils 

Useful in peace and w'ar, of metals found; 

Built sacred mounds to perpetuate 

Their memory, that the races coming 

After might see a lasting evidence 

Of industry, the ablest monument 

Anv race, or nation, or man can leave. 



vVvV''/,'" 



'wMm' 



A CADEXCE enchanting on the echoes is svTeeping 

In passionate, voluptuous strains, thro' the vale; 
Its tenderness, its wildness, its laughing, its weeping, 

Pulsate in thrilling tremors fore'er on the gale. 
A various story it tells in its sobbing, 
Of hearts sick and w-eary, of hearts inadly throbbing; 
A beautiful story it tells in its laughing. 

Of souls full of sweetness, of glory and gladness. 
And charms of love-nectar that gay souls are 
quatting — 

Of sunbeams e'er drowning the shadows of 
sadness! 
'Tis the hallowed music of Poetry's thought. 
Its melodies entrancing: come ever unsought. 



44 POEMS; BY HOMKR P. BRANCH. 






fn^^HE moonbeams, pale and wan, 
|, Are dying in the dawn, 

^ And morning now is superseding night, 
And you say that I must leave you, dear — 
Lea,ve you for awhile! — perhaps fore'er. 
I will; but though my M^^etched heart may blight, 

And wither up in hate 
Of all things I now love or ev'u esteem. 

Although a haggard fate 
May pierce my soul with its gaunt, spectral beam. 

Forever unrelenting, 
Still through the gloom of sorrow-laden years 

My thought, still unresenting. 
Shall kindly turn to you. These tender tears 
You shed in my behalf at parting, 
As I shall see them in my dreams, starting 
From the eyes of ev'ry lovely vision. 

Will wrap my heart about with sympathies. 
And the demon-finger of derision 

Pointing in rigid coldness at fond ties 
Now severed, will melt and vanish in the 
Warm emotions kindled by memory. 

You beg me go!— forget this worshipp'd shrine! — 
Or remember it but as friendship's bow'r! 

Farewell, sweet love! I leave you, but divine 
You shall seem to me through every hour. 



FLEETING JOYS. 



45 







SHE flitted past! Her c^oldeu hair 
Floated above a face as fair 
As e'er was looked upon — 
I never thonglit sun could arise 
Ou such sweet lips and such blue eyes, 
But hold! for she is gone! 

Thus come our joys, as fleet they go, 
Again we're face to face with woe. 

But cheer thy heart, old boy! 
There's always beauty flitting 'uy, 
\\ ilh pretty lips and laughing eye, 

A world of love and joy. 

Kn'oy the beauty that goes past, 
Don't look for happy scenes to last, 

They'd spoil us bye and bye; 
If all the world were bright and gay. 
And if we always had our way, 

\\'e'd sigh for tragedy. 



Dm you ever hear of Ihe selfish seer 

(Ah, one to be most thoi-oughly hated!) 

AY ho refuses kind deeds to do for fear 
Tliat he will not be appreciated? 



46 POEMS; BY HOMER P. BRANCH. 



■'~^'<^--'~^t^: 



iT| miE L01?SR'§ §0Lm0QU¥. 




"'^H, the woodlaiid is balmy and shady 

And awake with the singing of birds, 
As I stroll down the pathway with Sadie, 
And list to her beautiful words 

We are after a bouquet of jjosies, — 
That is, she is, and I earae along; 

But the flowers I seek are the roses 

That bloom on her fheeks; am T wrong V 



W ME¥Rp. 

Of all the flowers, dear, that giow 

Up from the fertile sod. 
The fragrant white rose is, I know, 

Sweet as the smile of God; 
As sweet, Zeyna, thy nature true 
As sweet as thou, how few! 

Then take this rose and wear it where 
'Twill catch the changing sheen 

That darts along thy raven hair, 
Or glances bright between 

The lashes of thy tender eyes 

And on thv fair cheek lies. 



ODE To A COYOTE. 47 



Wear it, love, where thy breath, twice sweet, 

< 'au kiss its fragrant leaves; 
Look on't, then think, my clear, to meet 

Me 'ueath the hanging eaves 
Of the old rose-bower to-night, 
Pre])aro(l for secret fiight. 



From "/.KYNA' Ki. Zkgai,,'' Chapter W 






0DG w p ee¥eTE. 

Oh, thou glum and gaunt old coj'ote, 
With quiet eyes, so meek, devout. 

Thy coy, reticent ways, denote 
The quaint suavity of a lout 

As on the twilight thou dost gloat! 
Oh, how r long to wipe thee out — 

To take thy weird and meagre form 

And hurl it 'gainst the coming storm! 

?our art thou and melancholly. 

Yelping a cross 'twixt howl and sneer. 

Looking measley, yea, and drolly, 
( As thj^ own ghost were very near 

Eaunting thee amidst thy folly!) 

Skulking through the grass with fear. 

As if thy heart were filled with hate 

But paunch of food were desolate. 



48 



POEMS; BY HOMER P. BRANCH. 



f m fi ^PEpR. 



■^/^^^Y 



.-^^ 



effVH, tlion emblem of passion, 
I - Sign of holy devotion, 

^^' iL Signal of heart's tendernes3 
And of the sonl's emotion, 
Oh, fall not from me I 

One drop I yet greater by far 

Than the greatest of ocean 
Billows is the deep grief-swell 

Of thy tremulous motion 

When droptfrom the e'e. 

Thy glist'ning lustres, as thou 

DweU'st a-tremble on the pale cheek 

Of unspeakable sorrow, 

Are more touching than words — speak 
Wilder of unrest. 

One drop! but I'ichest of gems; 

Of worth too truly unknowii, 
Art thou; a golden treasure, 

The soul of a pleasure flown 
i rom a hapless breast. 



A SCFT heart is a good thing, when joined with a 

solid head. 
But otherwise it might as well be comatose or 

dead. 



A TRIP IN THE DARK. 



/o 




G 



P TRIP m q^HB D^RK. 



JflT was in the dreary, bleak October, 
^i ! In the foulest of foal weather 
^ That RofriK and T, with manners sober, 
Walked over the bridi^e to:zether 



The night hung like a ghoul o'er the city 
As across thp bridge we did stroll; 

Now right here comes the p,:)int to this ditty — 
We both stubbed our toes on a pole I 

The pole had been left there by a fool chap 
Who had fished there during the day. 

And it hurled us headlong, prostrate, "kerflap," 
Right into the wet, slushy way. 

We picked each other up with a mutter, 
Nor twittered one beautiful word — 

Oh, ugh I it was too utt^^rly utter. 
As you may've already inferred 



To a parent there's nothing so poetically sweet 
As the pit-a-pit-patter of the baby's little feel- - 
Without it is his tiny laugh or merry prattle-cackle 
As he rolls about the floor or plays amid his tackle. 



50 



POEMS; BY HOMER P- BRANCH. 



RIGH^fppRB 




Li\.Y me down to morbid sleep, 
Wliile the spirits of the night, 
Out upon their sombre flight, 
Their silent, gloomy watches keep. 

I pass into a murky mist, 
And without desire to resist 
Float on through dismal routs. 
Now brineintj: fears and doubts. 



I am afflicted with a freezing dread 

And heaviness seems resting o'er my hea 1. 

A stifling universal cyclone flings 
Abroad a craze of ugly, unlike things. 

Down a steep hill I am impelled, 
And from destruction am witheld 
By the same pow'r whose sullen force 
Hurries me onward in mv course. 



The ground which 1 traverse is split 
With yawning gulfs, and as- 1 flit 
And leap and dodge along, I see 
Wild eyes peer upward furtively. 
Wishfully and fiercely from these dark holes, 
Which seem to be a hell of wretched souls. 



THE NIGHTMARE. ?^?>i 



Mighty clouds and a roaring sound 
Sweep by upon the dull profound. 

-* * 

I stand upon the heated rim 

Oi" a lake of lashing Hre, 
^^' here loathsome reptiles, living, swim 

With hideous writhiiigs dire. 

* , * 

White skeletons are dancing in 

The air and rattling their loose bones 

In fierce, fantastic glee, the din 
Made more horrible by the moans 

Of myriads of ghastly shapes 
That rise and fall upon the gale 
Struggling to grasp a monster pale 

\'^ ho constantly their clutch escapes 
And seems fore'r to flee 
Tow'rd a fast receding sea. 

* * 

The dizzy earth is rent assunder 
By a blast of deafening thunder. 
And numbed by cold paralysis 
I'm hurled into a dark abyss, 
Where I float, it seems for years, 
Tn somnolent atmospheres. 

* * 

A hideous beast with broad flapping wings, 
And voice that with satanic fury rings, 
Grasps me within its black, repulsive arms, 
And fills my confused soul with weird alarms. 



rOEMfi; BY HOMER P. BRANCH. 



The beast now i-oars 11: at he c!otli devour 
All things that come within liis power. 
Eis ugly, mighty jaws expand, 
My face by his foul breath is fanned, 
And sharp as daggers drawn from sheath 
I see his gleaming swordlike teeth. ^ 

Wildly I look abroad 
And gasp a prayer to God. 

A silver light breaks in upon the scene, 

The monster in bewildered rage grows green, 

Kow pale, now vanisheth, entire. 

In a flame of consuming tire. 

All terror ceases now, 

I feel upon my brow 

The kiss of a cool breeze; 

T rub my eyes, and sneeze, 
And yawn, and stretch, and look around. 
And nothing see here to confound. 

1 guess from present looks 

I've been among the spooks 
Tn the laud of Xod, for sure as sight 
'lis morning; -I've been dreaming over niglit. 

« « < »— ^ >»» 

Float, float, with two in the boat, 

Down the summer stream; 
Listen to the songbirds' note, 

Talk, and read, and dream 



THE SNOW BLOCKADE. 



53 



^ 5fHS gRSM BLOeK-(iDB. ^ 



ft see the cavortiiia: 
Of the "beautiful snow," 
Aud to hear the snorting 
Of old Boreas, jo, 
As he sweeps to and fro; 
And to be on the road 
With the trains all too late for any connection; 

To sit, glum as a toad, 
At stations lonely, with nothing but reflection 
For company, and that of the very worst kind. 
Is an inglorious state of things, don't you mind? 

But I'm bound to get through 

If it takes a fortnight. 
And I'll not say adieu 

To the west — by my sight! — 
Till I see a cute wight! 
Miss Maud, 'tis "thee" I'll see. 
In 3'our presence there's no such a thing as de- 
jection; 

I'm alwa^'s full of glee 
\Vhen with you, whatever the weather's com- 
plexion; 
But this slow-poke way of getting along's enough, 
By Jove ! to make a fellow feel terribly tough. 



Tlie above "effusion'- was written while the author was "snowed in" 
at a lonely railway junction in western Iowa, during a terrific blizzard. 
m which the trains were blockaded, one winter in the earlier part of 
the present decade. 



54 POEMS; BY HOMER P. BRANCH. 









(M-S-- 



1 



i; 



f^lKE the lull of far off music 
Are Josip:'s whispers low, 
^^ And dalcet sounds move from her lips 
In charmine- accents slow. 



But Hattie's rasping whispers, my ! 

They grind out through her teeth 
Like pigs that scratch against the fence 

Then squeeze through underneath. 






Tv the wait?-, sweet waltz! we move in a trance 

Of enchanting delight, 

VVhirling, merrily dight, 

'Neath the clear and bright 
Gleam of the fairylike lamps overhead — 
Gleam of the soft-shining lamps overhead! — 

And at every well 

Of the orchestra's swell. 

The charming sti'ains impel 
Us ever—'tis a most bewitching dance. 



TO A FRIEND. 55 



AW "a 

" # ^9 H PRIERD. / 



WISH: 

That happiness may ever be thy lot, 
^ That life's pathway may seem to thee a bright 

And blossoming meander of delight; 
That thou may'st ne'er do anght to clond thy name, 

That thou may'st ne'er be \ictim of a plot 

Or snare, nor be the heir to stain or blot 
Upon thy fair and estimable fame; 
That thousands may applaud thee and «^^steem 
The pure rays of nobleness that beam 
So brightly from thee throughout fleeting time, 
JNJaking thee as a man and friend, sublime; 
1 hat thou may'st lo\ e all those who love thee— hand 

In hand walk with them down life's winding shore 
Througli shady wood and o'er the sunny sand, 

'I hrougli sereiie lands and pleasant scenes galore. 



► e ; ^ ^B—^ 



How we cherish the old tren.sures. 
How we dream of the old pleasures 

Cf the golden happy days long gone; 
How^ we peer into the future — 
The grand mirage of the future! — 

For the treasures and pleasures coming on. 



50 POEMS; BY HOMER P. BRANCH. 




WBE QJiD epK ^REB. 



N the pasture the sheep-bells are tinkling, 
Tn the heavens the bright stars are twinkling, 
^^ And o'er the grass the night dew is sprinkling 
A uioisture that makes us seek 
Shelter 'neath this old crumpled oak 
\^'e have often lingered under before. 
If this aged tree could speak 
E'en as good as a whispered croak, 
What a quantity of excellent lore 
It could furnish!— ten thousand folio pages 
Couldn't hold the love-talk it has heard through 
the ages; 
Even ours, Miss Lydia, I brook, 
Would make quite a remarkable book. 

J. X J, J, 4. 

5?HE LpDIEi. 

"The ladies! an' may they live foriver, 
An' die wid the roses o' swate sixteen 

Still bloomin' on the'r bootiful faces," 
Was Pat's gallant response to "The Ladies," 
A pet toast, then added : "The'r bright sowds'd make 

The angels invious o' the'r u^races." 



TME END 



LIBRf^RY OF CONGRESS 



018 603 551 3 



